Jeorge
by BobTeBattlin'Barbarian
Summary: A companion piece to my other fire emblem work. Please read the other first (titled king, about michalis) or this won't make any sense!


Jeorge walked calmly into the quiet dark room, setting down his bow and quiver and pulling off the top half of his red and black checkered wrap.

"Beginning already?" a sensuous voice asked from the couch.

Jeorge grinned in the dark at the languid, candlelit figure of the Macedonian queen. "You can't blame for being eager," he chuckled softly, "and I didn't know you would be here quite yet, Lady Eremiah…"

"Where else would I go? I had to flee, we all know how uncertain my son's mercy can be…I have to remain out of view until he cools off at least."

"It was very certain towards his father," he took up two goblets and set them on the table by the couch, pouring each full to the brim with wine, "Certainly absent, that is."

"A special vintage," he smiled, handing one glass to her and raising the other in a celebratory gesture. "For a special occasion."

Eremiah raised her own glass and tilted her head, smirking. "You don't expect me to be celebrating, do you?"

"Do I?" Jeorge shrugged, laying back against the couch, their legs tangling together. "You never cease to surprise me, Eremiah…You very well might be."

She grinned now and nodded, "I very well might be indeed, Jeorge. He was a bore and barbarian…"

"Mmm… you don't agree with how he ran the kingdom?" Jeorge swirled his drink, taking a long sip after.

"Rather a heavy question, for what seems to happening here…" she glanced towards their legs and smirked. "Are old habits resuming?"

"They do die hard…" he chuckled and took another long drink, giving another chuckle moments after, half to himself, different in tone.

"I can only hope so…I am going to be oh so lonely now... " she murmured, voice low and breathy.

"I am sure I can do something for that…" he gave another quiet, strange chuckle. "In fact I most certainly will…" he went quiet, running a gentle hand along her thigh, brushing up the fabric of her dress slightly.

"His kingship was the one thing I admired about him…" she said after a moment. "I admired his ambition, even if his schemes could be crude. But that's where you and I came in, after all, to ameliorate that… crude edge, to his plans."

Jeorge nodded, took another long drink of wine. "And what do you think of Michalis, as King…? He certainly won't let you take the throne."

"I was hoping I'd come here to find more than political conversation, Jeorge. I'm a lady in need of comfort, after all…" she laughed gently.

"Mm, but you and I both know there's a thrill to this intrigue…" he grinned back.

"True, true," she admitted. "What do I think of my son? He is his father but more so. Weaker in his normal state, less in control of himself when angers…"

"More opportunities for us, then. Easier to manipulate… And Minerva? She'll have some great say in the new governance, if Michalis has any control over it."

She frowned now. "Don't remind me… she's more difficult than her brother, in many ways. More intelligent, more cunning…"

"She takes that from you," Jeorge chuckled softly, prompting a deeper frown from Eremiah.

"You have far too large a soft spot for her Jeorge, even to this day. I can't fathom how, she stabbed you in the back after all."

"That's one way of seeing it," he nodded noncommittally

"It's a shame to have such disappointing progeny," she shook her head and muttered.

"Disappointing?" Jeorge tilted his head, running a soothing hand on her thigh.

"Yes… Michalis too distracted by emotion, swaying to greatly between his father's anger and his own softness. And Minerva is… obscene."

"They certainly didn't turn out how their father wanted," Jeorge laughed mockingly.

"Oh, I can't be certain of that. I half imagine he got some sick satisfaction from their coup d'etat, the old fool…"

"Mmm, you have point there," he said, finishing off his glass of wine and pouring himself another.

"It's such a shame," she repeated bitterly, "for both my children to be such disappointments."

"Both your children?" Jeorge paused momentarily as he raised the next drink to his lips.

"Yes. Both of them," she said flatly.

Jeorge nodded, taking the drink silently. "Drink, Eremiah… It'll help the mood."

She laughed and downed the rest of her glass in a single drink. "Silly me, for forgetting. You _did_ have other things in mind than politics after all."

"Of course," he smiled. "Don't you know I've been waiting such a long time for this?"

"I'll be certain to make it worth your wait, then. Even if it was your own fault for delaying so long," she held out her glass, and Jeorge filled it obligingly.

"Your special vintage disappoints as well, Jeorge…" she smirked. "It has a rather odd taste to it."

"Oh?" Jeorge said easily, with little feeling, "I apologize… the taste isn't too noticeable, is it?"

"No…" she peered closely at the glass now. "Only a subtle hint, and the rest of the flavor is still quite pleasing."

"Good," he smiled, taking another drink of his own goblet.

"But… it is a strangely familiar flavor. Jeorge… have you…?" her voice went unsteady suddenly.

"Have I what…?" he asked, still soft and pleasant.

"Poisoned… me…" she peered at the glass, eyes unfocused.

Jeorge leaned against the back of the couch. "Indeed I have…" shock spread quickly across her expression as he took the goblet from her hands, setting it down gently on the table. "Set down your glass, dear," he said, almost sweetly, "you would find it growing heavy soon…" She rose as quickly as she could with the poison already settling in, but he caught her, lifting her up and setting her back down almost tenderly.

"No, no, dear…" he shook his head pityingly. "I made sure to lock the doors, just in case…"

"But… how could you…?" her eyes remained wide open, as if she could not close them, staring deeply and blankly at the side of his face, his gaze not turned to meet hers.

"How could I…" he murmured softly to himself, taking a long drink and sighing, a finger of his other hand twirling a lock of her idly. "Oh dear, there's so many reasons. Where to begin, where to explain…"

She laughed shortly, painedly. "Not… that… nonsense. How… I was… always the master of this…"

"I learned very well from you, my darling. Well enough to even exceed you. Wyvern's root was the poison, if you're wondering," he said off handedly.

"Too… pungent," her breaths came short and panicked. "And I'd be dead already…"

"There's a strange side effect, however, when it is mixed with certain other poisons. They neutralize, you see, masking the smells and warning signs and eliminating most of the potency. Most, that is, not all. Oh no… it is still quite fatal, Eremiah, most definitely fatal. But it takes far more time to do its deadly work… far, far more time, and oh so much pain…" he ran his hand along her side, soothing motion, settled back and downed his wine, refilling it once more and settling back again.

Her eyes, fixed wide, stared up and around sightlessly. A little shriek escaped, tight and short, as the first of the shudders wracked her body.

"Wh-what… what game… is this… Jeorge… why… please don't…" a note of pleasing, surprising from Eremiah, entered her voice. He remained silent, sipping the wine gently now.

"What possible… purpose… why… now…" she went on, soft whimpers punctuating the pauses.

"Why…?" he considered for a long moment, then rose. She made a few pathetic motions, to escape or attack him he did not know, but he brushed them aside gently. "Just lie there, Eremiah, lie and relax… you always lied so easily, after all."

Opening a cabinet by the wall he withdrew a small vial, then walked back over, setting it down just outside the reach of her outstretched arm.

"The antidote…" he said, smiling gently and lounging by her once again. "Tell me why I should give it to you…"

"Wh-what…"

"Tell me, dear. Let me hear that soft sweet speaking tongue of yours persuade me. Of course, I'm sure your usual eloquence won't come so easily right now, but I understand...:"

"I-I…" another shudder of pain ran through her, provoking another round of pained whimpers.

"Tell me, please…" he smirked, voice a pleasant whisper.

"W-we…," the words came haltingly, long pauses and exclamations of pain between each, "we were… lovers…"

"Funny," he said, "how that word implies things which did not exist… feelings, as empty as promises…" he took a long sip, smiling into the cup.

"She… betrayed you… made a fool… of you… with her… obscene ways…" her breathing came so rapid the breaths flowed into one long unsteady exhalation, chest rising and falling in shivering, unbearable motions, limbs taut and paralysed, eyes fixed wide open and sightles. "Why side… against me… with her…"

"Ah, that's your classic mistake, Eremiah dear. You never thought in the right ways, don't you see?"

"Thought… what?" the consciousness slowly faded from her eyes, voice slurring and bewildered.

"You were oh so clever, Eremiah, oh so good at your plots, oh so cunning and silver tongued… all that I can't deny. But you never learned to think the right way…."

"Why… Jeorge… dear… why… please tell… me," despair flooded her voice, pitiful and confused and drowning in pain.

"Why…? Oh, I don't think I could ever explain. Only know that you and I are different… you never learned to change and think fluid, Eremiah. And…" he laughed to himself, "for one last piece of honesty, you've done things I just can't forgive."

"But… she…"

"Shh…" he whispered softly. "Don't bother. You'll never have the time to understand. No point in wasting the effort of asking. It'll only worsen the pain, the strain of talking…" he ran his hand across her shoulders and back, soothingly, if she could even feel it now.

"I'm going to die," she said, in one last moment of lucidity.

"Yes, Eremiah dear," he replied, surprised to find his voice shudder, a faint moisture to his eyes.

"Why… Jeorge… dear… still here…?" she looked up at him, pleading, eyes still stuck open wide, unblinking, voice plaintive.

"I can't let you die alone, dear…" he stroked her cheek softly.

"Thank… you…" she slumped back, limp now, shuddering faintly, too weary to move more.

"Of course…" he continued to stroke her cheek, rambling on softly in a low, soothing whisper, as her words faded into small, anguished screams.

Then, at last, in the small hours of the morning, they ceased, and it was over.


End file.
